We All Want Merlin
by Daryl Alenko
Summary: With the knowledge that King Arthur intends to make Gwen his Queen, the Knights decide it is safe to make a play for the object of their shared affections; Merlin. There will be two endings to this fic, with two different outcomes for who wins Merlin's heart.
1. The Knights Plot!

**Title:** We All Want Merlin

 **Rating:** Mature, occasional bad language and adult situations.

 **Pairing:** Merlin, the Knights

 **Summary:** _With the knowledge that King Arthur intends to make Gwen his Queen, the Knights decide it is safe to make a play for the object of their shared affections; Merlin. There will be two endings to this fic, with two different outcomes for who wins Merlin's heart._

 **Author's Notes:**

This takes place before Lancelot's sacrifice.

Each chapter will be about a different Knight, but all the chapters will be connected, save for the alternate ending. It will stand alone from the other ending.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin, the characters, or any rights to it. This is all done for fun!

 _ **ALSO:**_ I have no beta, unfortunately. So, any mistakes are undoubtedly my own. My apologies. 

* * *

**The Knights Plot!**

* * *

"Order, order!" Leon's voice cuts through the chatter of the knights gathered at the small training ring Arthur had set up for them to run through the various exercises he created to keep them sharp. While it is true that there are many Knights of Camelot, this core group of five have become synonymous with the name. Whenever King Arthur called for his Knights, it is them he is calling upon, and each of them know it.

"Now, we all know why we are here." Leon grins, a bare twisting of his pale lips as he casts a knowing glance across Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and Lancelot. Though, it should be noted, that Lancelot is the only one who looks mildly confused as to the meaning of the gathering, though Leon pays it no mind at the moment. How could he, when he can feel the almost electric excitement pumping through him as he contemplates the reason they are here?! What it means for each and every one of them!

"Get on with it, man!" Gwaine's voice cuts through the gathering, mild murmurs of agreement following from Elyan and Percival. Leon cuts an irritated glare at Gwaine, before he continues.

"Though it has not yet been announced to the Council or the people of Camelot, we five are aware of Arthur's intentions toward Guinevere." Lancelot's eyes widen a fraction of an inch before he drops his gaze altogether. So, it was true, then? Arthur intended to marry Gwen? Not that such news should surprise him, really. It is the reason he left once she was safe, was it not? He had left the woman he loved and his best friend behind in one stroke. An action that haunted him until the fateful day Hunith gave him Merlin's letter. He would never admit it, but Camelot almost falling was one of the greatest things that had ever happened to him. It delivered him back into Merlin and Gwen's lives. And the time he has been able to spend with Merlin, discussing his friend's magic and the state of Camelot, has been the greatest time he has ever known. But it still hurts, hearing aloud that Arthur is to make Gwen his Queen. Lancelot sees a night of heavy drinking with Merlin in his near future. "And with the news that Arthur wishes himself betrothed to Gwen ... well, we all know what that means!" Leon practically croons these words, his gloved hands slapping together in an enthusiastic clap that leaves Lancelot feeling confused. Especially as Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival follow suit with the same motion.

"We can finally go after Merlin!" Percival's voice cuts through those gathered. The Gentle Giant does not speak often, but when he does, his voice and words tend to resonate amongst his brothers of the sword. This time is no different.

"May the best man win!" Elyan declares, rubbing his palms together eagerly. It's clear that he is confident of being the best man in this situation! Percival snorts, but before he can speak again, Gwaine has stepped forward.

"And we -all- know, that will be me! Merlin is my best friend, he has sought me out to help him and Arthur. He will be mine!" This announcement is met with jeers and playful words from Percival, Elyan, and Leon.

Lancelot merely stares on in utter surprise.

"Excuse." He drawls out the single word, but his silence up until that point now being broken, is enough to garner the attention of the other knights. He clears his throat as he takes a few shuffling steps forward. "Let me get this straight. This .. meeting .. is to discuss the fact that Arthur getting betrothed means that -Merlin- is now free .. to what? Be courted?" He asks in gobsmacked disbelief, and wonders if some kind of enchantment is at work when four eager heads nod in agreement with his assessment.

"But of course, Lancelot! As long as Arthur was single, his protectiveness of Merlin could not be contested or overlooked. But now that he plans to marry, he cannot keep Merlin to himself. It's our turn!" Leon speaks slow and careful, as if he is trying to explain something to a young Squire, or worse, a little child. Lancelot bristles, considers asking when it was that the other Knights became so aware of Merlin, but decides to hold his tongue. Whatever madness this is, it will surely pass.

"Riiiiiigghhhttt..." Lancelot drawls that word out on a soft exhale of breath that ruffles his short bangs before he turns on his heels. Are they joking? Is this one of their silly games or pranks that he has never really understood? It makes his stomach dip and dive, twist into a knot of apprehension that he is trying to ignore. Because he is torn. Who does he owe his allegiance to in this moment? He cannot go against his brothers of the sword and warn Merlin of whatever they are playing at, but he also cannot abandon his friend to such strange machinations! He actually considers telling Arthur what the Knights have planned, but that causes the knot in his stomach to tighten and curl even worse. He does not wish to see his brothers hurt by the overprotective King. Argh, this is too difficult! With another frustrated sigh, he leaves the other four behind.

"Time to put your talents to the test, braggart!" Percival smirks momentarily toward Gwaine, none of the knights paying attention as Lancelot departs. They are too deep in their scheming. "You will go first!" Gwaine's eyes narrow as he reaches up to shove a gloved hand through his bangs, pushing them off his cheeks as he waggles his brows playfully at Percival.

"First and last, Perce. Merlin is -mine-." Gwaine smirks wickedly and turns, practically running from the area as he begins to plot. He clears his mind of every thing but his vast knowledge of Merlin as he walks away.


	2. Gwaine

**Gwaine**

* * *

As Gwaine makes preparations to woo the unwitting servant of the King, said servant is galloping through the forests that surrounds the beautiful city of Camelot. His horse, a nag of advancing years that is miraculously still somewhat spry for her age, knickers indignantly as he pushes her into brand new heights of speed not felt since her youth!

"MERLIN!" Arthur's voice is an exasperated growl from somewhere behind the big eared young man. King Arthur cannot, for the life of him, understand why Merlin is suddenly dead set on getting back to the Castle. After all, the idiot must surely know what awaits him! A list of chores ranging from the simple to the utterly foul, and Merlin is trying to make record time to return to it all!? The King huffs an angry breath, knowing by this time, that there is no reason in continuing his tirade of the fool's name, since Merlin clearly isn't paying the least bit of attention.

"Come on, Clodpole!" Merlin barks the words over his shoulder, shifting on the saddle of his mount so that he can swivel his head to glare behind him at his friend and master. Glare. At the KING! No single servant would -ever- have the gall to glare at the leader of the kingdom. Hell, even most NOBLES would never risk such a dangerous gambit, for fear of being censured, sent to the stocks, or deities only know what else! But ... that is the truth of Camelot since the time of Merlin's arrival; Merlin is not a regular servant or a Noble. He's ... Merlin. There is no other word for the creature that could practically commit murder and still be pardoned by the sovereign of the kingdom.

"That is NOT a word, MERlin!" Arthur drawls out in a somewhat whiny voice, though he would never admit to his voice being capable of making such a girly, pathetic sound. Whatever words he was about to speak up with .. whatever pithy retort of this oh so comfortable banter he was about to offer up in their neverending game of insults dies upon his tongue as he lifts his gaze toward Merlin once more.

In this position, half swiveled on his mount as his body ebbs and flows in graceful waves against the saddle, the midday light chases shadows across the valley of his chiseled cheekbones, the peaks of his lips and brow, and Arthur feels his breath hitch painfully. Lodging itself in his suddenly too dry throat as he downcasts his gaze instantly.

"Fine! You're royal Pratness! King of the dollopheads .. you cabbage-"

"Merlin!" The moment Arthur speaks his name with the pronounced edge of true annoyance, Merlin quickly retreats to a proper sitting position on his nag, spurring her on a little faster. It is true, some part of him had been eager to get out of the woods and return to the familiar safety of Camelot, but that feeling has long since been eclipsed by the desire to mess with his liege lord. After all, when has Merlin -ever- passed up a chance to annoy the royal prat!?

"Yes, sire?" He throws his head back in the heat of the pounding sunlight, as if in the very throes of ecstasy as the words shoot from lips pursed in happiness as he edges the horse on just a little faster.

"SHUT UP!" A peel of boisterous laughter echoes through the trees as a sound of pure, fantastic GLEE leaps from the servant's lips. He will pay for this, he is sure. The stocks, mucking out stables, Arthur will try to command him to do -something- to belittle the connection that exists between them as they race toward the kingdom they have helped build, but at the moment, Merlin just doesn't care. Every thing is GOOD. For once, all things are right with his world, and the surprisingly care free, innocent warlock wishes to make the most of it!

So on and on his nag's hooves beat, clouds of dust and clods of grass cast into a chaotic cloud as they bear down on the place Merlin is still surprised to call home. So far from the peasant fields of Ealdor, the place of his birth. Camelot is .. is CAMELOT. It's a city that lives. A thrumming pulse of potential running like an undercurrent that connects rich and poor, Noble and Servant, and Merlin still cannot believe that he has had some hand in shaping it. Sure, it has been from the shadows and sidelines, and Arthur hasn't the first clue of all that Merlin has done for him, but that's okay. Because Lancelot was right. Of all those knighted during the time of the Immortal army, Merlin would've deserved the honor more. Knowing that -someone- knows the truth is enough for him. He had sacrificed more than any Knight of Camelot, even the King. But that's okay. One day, he will tell Arthur that he has magic, and the cabbagehead will finally understand the infinite depths of Merlin's devotion to him.

Hooves thunder loudly against the stones of the courtyard as Merlin races through the gates of Camelot. The revitalized nag prances two full circuits of the area before coming to a stop in the middle of it. As Merlin struggles to calm the raging beat of his heart and still the chaotic gasp of his overworked breath, he has a chance to study his surroundings.

For the most part, nothing is really out of place. There is the typical flow of foot traffic; city guard, servants hurrying too and fro, and Nobles strolling lazily about. But one thing is decidedly -off- about the familiar scene. Namely, the fact that all five Knights are currently present! Leon, Elyan, and Percival sit huddled together on the left side of the steps, while Gwaine paces wildly in front of them. Lancelot is separated from the others, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall. His handsome features are clouded and unreadable.

Merlin feels his stomach clench in fear as he fights down a feeling of dread. Please don't let this day be ruined! -PLEASE- don't let certain doom be speeding toward Camelot on the one day that all seems to be well for the overworked servant!

As Merlin tries his best and fails not to fret, Percival's large, observant eyes land on him, and the Warlock is absolutely astonished to see him, Elyan, and Leon light up with utter -joy- as they look to him. And all of his distress melts away instantly when Gwaine stops pacing and turns to him with that gorgeous, disarming smile of his. If Gwaine is that blindingly happy, then all is right with the world and there is nothing to fear.

"MERLIN!" Though Gwaine screams Merlin's name at the same octave Arthur usually does, it couldn't be more different than the tone with which Arthur usually speaks it. When Gwaine forms the name, it is all sunshine and unadulterated -happiness- at the sight of Merlin. It makes the Warlock feel warm and tingly all over. Gwaine rushes forward, grabbing the reins of the nag as he peers up into Merlin's flushed, excited features. Could the youth BE any more BEAUTIFUL!? The way his pale, high boned cheeks flush with his blush, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner with his giant ear to ear grin. The way the sunlight beats off his features to create an elfin facade!? Gwaine breathes deeply as he stares up at his best friend. "How did it go, Mer?" He breathlessly poses the question as he reaches up to wrap his large hands around the delicate taper of Merlin's hips to slide him carefully down from the saddle. He can almost feel the envy bleeding off his fellow knights as Merlin's hands shoot out to grasp him at the shoulders, trying to steady himself.

"It was great, Gwaine! The last few minutes ... it was like -flying-!" Merlin's voice soars to infinite peaks of exuberant ecstasy as he tosses his head back and allows another boisterous laugh to rip from his pursed lips as eyes flutter closed. Of course, that would be the exact moment that Arthur's horse comes pounding into the courtyard, drawing up short at the bewildering sight that awaits him. Gwaine. Merlin. Embraced. Merlin's head tossed back, exposing the alabaster curve of his flawless neck that is as pale as sweet cream. Arthur's breath stutters for a moment as he pushes it painfully out his nose. The hell is going on here!?

"There has never been a more beautiful sight than you, so flushed and happy, Merlin!" Gwaine's voice thickens, drops to a husky timber that immediately draws Merlin back into a straight position. That reminds him that his hands are still clasping the other man's shoulders. He allows them to slip away, though he realizes that Gwaine's hands are not going to leave his waist just yet.

"G-Gwaine .." Merlin stumbles through the name with a tremor of emotion in his voice. The Knight feels his throat go painfully dry when twin pin pricks of high heat flush the warlock's cheeks. Gwaine sucks in a deep breath. Carefully, reluctantly, he forces his hands off the graceful slope of the other man's hips, taking a step back as he forces a deep, silent breath out. You can do this, Gwaine. You fought Wyverns for this man!

"Merlin .." Gwaine's voice drops another sultry octave, and the warlock feels it drip down his spine like warm honey, goosebumps prickling his flesh so deliciously as he struggles to understand what the hell is going on here! Why Gwaine is speaking to him in such sensual, silky tones. It sends heat spiraling through his body in the most disturbing, -wonderful- ways. Not a reaction he is particularly used to. "You must know, you are the truest friend I have ever had, Merlin. If not for you .. for your belief in me, I would not be a Knight of Camelot. I would be .. a sodden fool traveling from tavern to tavern incurring gambling debts I could never pay." Merlin lets out a bemused, though slightly stilted chuckle, the sound coming to a soft, gasped end when his friend reaches out to gently trail a gloved hand across one of his accentuated, angular cheeks.

"You know .. that I never did any of this for the Princess. I have forsaken the nomadic life and settled down in Camelot .. for you, Merlin. I don't know all of your secrets yet .." Gwaine and Merlin both cut their gazes to where Lancelot is still leaning, features unreadable, against the wall, before they are staring at one another again. "But I ask for the chance to do so."

Arthur frowns as he dismounts his horse, trying to figure out why Gwaine was clutching at his manservant. Why said manservant is currently staring deep into the knight's eyes with the barest hint of a blush creeping like kudzu vines up his pallid neck toward his cheeks. And where the hell is Merlin's neckerchief at this particular moment? Somehow, the King cannot help but feel that he could concentrate a little better on trying to figure out why Gwaine is staring so intently at his manservant, if Merlin had his neckerchief on!

"Merlin .." Gwaine speaks the manservant's name for what feels like the hundredth time as he reaches up toward his own neck. His fingers dip beneath the cloak of Pendragon red to grasp the thin filigree chain that always rests around his neck. He liberates the chain, carefully laying it across the palm of his hand, drawing the warlock's attention to it. "This .. is one of the only possessions I have held onto through the course of my life. I never take it off. The ring, belonged to my Father ... the crescent moon was passed down through the generations to my mother." Merlin's eyes widen, a shaky hand lifting to allow his pointer finger to gently skate down the golden curve of the ring. He has often thought of asking Gwaine about the trinkets, since the moment the man had rested, injured, on his bed and he had seen it for the first time.

"It's beautiful, Gwaine." He whispers, the words solemn and so very soft, afraid to speak too loudly and ruin whatever moment the knight is trying to cultivate between them. Gwaine reaches up to grasp him by the shoulder, turning Merlin around to face away from him so that he can open the clasp and drape the necklace around his best friend. Once it is fastened, he leans forward to press a tender, if not trembled kiss to the nape of Merlin's pale neck where the chain rests against his flawless skin. Merlin sucks in a quivering, surprised breath, his hand flying up to trace the crescent moon momentarily before he turns to face his friend again, features scrunched up in that adorable, quizzical way he wears so handsomely.

"Gwaine, what are you doing?" His voice squeaks faintly, before he clears his throat to try and calm himself.

"I am giving it to you, Merlin. My present to you, no matter what happens in the next few minutes." When he sees the warlock preparing to answer, he gives a quick shake of his head and offers up a sheepish smile. "No, please. Don't speak, Merlin. Not yet. I need to get through this ..." Gwaine sucks in a breath, his gaze flicking toward the other knights, who are leaning forward slightly, staring with wide, curious eyes at the sight unfolding beneath them. None of them are close enough to hear, but they are doing their best to judge by the actions.

"Merlin ... would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?" The words come out in a rush of trembling breath as he stares at his best friend with wide, hopeful eyes. Merlin's natural doe eyes widen into glistening jewels of confusion and embarrassment as he struggles to process the question his best friend has just asked him. The strange, overwhelming, INSANE question his friend has just asked him!

His fingers gently caress across the necklace for a moment, before he tucks it beneath the collar of his shirt. Despite being a bit confused and more than a little off balance by this odd turn of events, he cannot help feeling touched that his dear friend views him in such a tender light.

"Gwaine .." he sighs the name of his friend, reaching up to gently push a few strands of the older knight's hair off his cheek. "I am honored that you view me so highly, so tenderly in your thoughts. But .." He almost flinches as Gwaine's happiness fizzles with a wince and a sad, but understanding smile. After all, what good could come from a but? "... I cannot accept your courtship. It wouldn't be fair. We are great friends, but I cannot give you my heart. I'm sorry." With unshed tears glistening in his eyes, he allows his large, slender hand to cup Gwaine's grizzled cheek as he leans forward. The moment their lips mold together in the beautiful, chaste kiss, Gwaine feels his knees grow weak, and for a horrible moment, he worries that they may actually knock together in some embarrassing way as he struggles to keep himself upright.

"Thank you for your honesty, Mer. I hope you find happiness." He turns, walking toward the other three knights that have lept to their feet with mixed expressions of happiness and sadness as Gwaine rejoins them. After all, judging on actions alone, it seemed as if the braggart had managed to pull it off, doesn't it? But with a sad shake of his head, and a few tears marring his cheeks, the others understand. He had failed.

Merlin takes a deep breath, ducking his head awkwardly to pass his cheeks across the shabby expanse of his shirt sleeve, making sure that no errant tears had escaped. Now is not the time to cry. His hand touches just above his heart, where the trinkets attached to the chain rest out of view.

"MERLIN!" Arthur barks the name of his manservant, features stormy as he tries to understand what the hell has just unfolded. Is Merlin now with Gwaine!? Hadn't they just kissed? What is the -meaning- of this!? Surely Merlin knows that is inappropriate, just -wrong-!?

"Y-yes, S-sire." Merlin spits the words out like broken shards of emotion, before turning his tear stained eyes on the king as he approaches. For a single moment, Arthur fumbles, before sliding the reins of his horse into Merlin's hand.

"Take them to the stable and let the stable boy take care of them, and then head to my chambers. I have a list of chores for you." He snaps acerbically, before he turns and stomps toward the stairs leading into the Castle. Merlin swipes his sleeve across his cheeks one more time before he turns and heads off.

Silently, Lancelot pushes off the wall and turns to head into the Castle, wondering if there was any chance that this madness would end with Gwaine's failure.


	3. Elyan

**Elyan**

* * *

"Merlin." Elyan's wise, warm, almost comforting voice takes the warlock by surprise as he turns from the horse he had been preparing. His fingers pass lightly over the reins, his usual bright, happy smile softening his features as he watches the Knight approach. Though he and Elyan are not overly close, they have spent nights at Gwen's home speaking, easing into the possibility of kindling a beautiful friendship. As with all the other knights, Elyan has found himself drawn to the adorable little 'mascot' that had become important to them all for different reasons.

"Hello, Elyan." Merlin's boyish features break into that beautiful, open, guileless smile that sent Elyan's heart tripping into a higher stratosphere of desire and fondness.

"Thank you for getting my horse, Merlin. You're always so dear." Elyan grins shyly, shifting his weight from foot to foot, feeling out of his depth. He can fight bandits, face a sorcerer, and take his licks while training, but he is suddenly unsure and a little -scared- when faced with the object of his desire. He takes a deep breath, his dark eyes flashing with nervousness before he raises his gaze toward the younger man once more.

"No problem, Elyan. It's part of my job." The young warlock offers another flash of that boyish grin, and Elyan's stomach roils in exquisite turmoil. And yet, at the same time, a fair frown tugs at the edges of the knight's mouth, and he takes a step closer to the younger man. His hand lifts, then awkwardly descends to rest on the other man's shoulder for a moment.

"Merlin .. you go far and above your duty, you always have. And we all love that about you. You are selfless and wonderful, and you must learn to take a compliment." He whispers the last sentence vehemently, dripping with the passion of truth that he feels about it. Merlin can feel his cheeks filling with the heat of a blush, his feet scuffing shyly across the courtyard floor before he raises his gaze back up to meet Elyan's eyes.

"T-thank you, Elyan." Merlin stammers the words out, the tips of his ears glowing with a blush before he awkwardly lifts a hand to squeeze Elyan's shoulder, though he lets go instantly. Elyan can feel his own cheeks darkening, and he drops his gaze in an almost coy display of shyness. Before he reluctantly takes a few steps back. For the first time since he walked over, Merlin has the chance to get a good look at him. Not surprising, he's dressed in his chainmail and armor, with the Pendragon cloak draped over his shoulders, and his sword belt evident. However, the odd thing that sort of throws him off, is the beautiful bow and quiver thrown over one arm.

"If you don't mind, Merlin, while I have you for a moment before the others arrive, there is something I wish to speak to you about.." Elyan's gaze is still lowered as he struggles to try and get his wits about him. Struggles to pluck up the courage to say what he needs to say. But the words don't want to come. They lodge in his throat and for one terrible, wild moment, he thinks that he should have taken Gwaine's advice and had a pint before doing this. To loosen his tongue and settle his nerves.

As he tries to conjure up the proper words to woo the elfin beauty, he is unaware of his sister and the King walking down the steps toward the courtyard, though they do not continue the journey. They make it about halfway down the steps before drawing up short to try and discern the scene playing out before them.

"I know that you have always been a good friend to my Sister, and that you did everything in your power to help my Father .." Elyan struggles with the words for a moment, and once again, Merlin's hand alights on his shoulder. Gives it a sympathetic squeeze before falling back down to his side, and Elyan's heart swells even more with happiness and affection for the younger man. "Though we are not as close as I would truly like us to be, I do consider us friends."

"As do I!" Merlin hastily agrees, that beaming smile appearing to back up his words, and Elyan finds himself faltering for a moment. All sane thought and reason escapes, and it takes an act of sheer willpower to keep him from leaning forward and kissing Merlin for all that he is worth. He does, however, reach out. For the briefest moment that seems equal parts agony and ecstasy, his gloved hand molds to the sharp curve of one of Merlin's cheekbones, teasing along the skin but dropping almost immediately. Both men miss the surprised gape of Gwen's mouth and the angry purse of Arthur's lips as they both try to figure out what is happening. Gwen wondering why Elyan is touching Merlin, and Arthur wondering why Merlin is allowing himself to be touched in such a way. Especially if he is now with Gawine!

"I am glad you feel that way, Merlin." Elyan's features break out into a sweet smile before he carefully pulls the quiver of arrows from his back. The quiver is sturdy and strong, plain even, save the single scroll-work of vine along the left edge. He slides the quiver up onto his other shoulder, so that he can now pull the bow free. Merlin gasps in surprise as he gets the chance to look it over. It is nearly as tall as him, shorter by only a few inches, but the design itself nearly takes Merlin's breath away!

It is carved from a single piece of wood, displaying intricate swoops and prongs that all seek to draw his attention at once. He nearly goes cross-eyed trying to take it all in! The bottom is a single prong with a curve leading up to the main bow, but it deviates immediately from there. It splices off into three prongs with butterfly wing-like carvings at the center, the string threaded from the bottom to all three prongs at the top. A spiderweb design is etched across the whole of the bow. And Merlin's fingers practically itch to reach out and touch it. To trace every individual grain of wood.

"This is ... an important thing to me, Merlin." Elyan speaks softly, Merlin having to take a step closer to be able to catch what the older man is saying. "My Father made this for me the day I became a man. It was .. the greatest bow he ever made. He labored day and night to get the design just the way he wanted it." Merlin takes a step closer, and unable to stop himself, he reaches out to carefully run his fingers along the curve of the bow. Feeling the grains of wood just as he had wished to do. Elyan's eyes crinkle at the corners as a magnificent grin softens his features.

"It is beautiful, beyond words, Elyan." Merlin whispers the words ever so soft, as if they share a secret between them. As if the beauty of the object were not plain for all to see. Elyan's head cants to the left, and that brilliant smile softens even further.

"As are you, Merlin .. as are you." Merlin's head snaps up, his eyes widening as a blush creeps up his pallid cheeks, causing them to pinken delicately as he tries to find the words to .. argue. He is not beautiful! He is plain, awkward .. gangly. And yet, he never gets the chance to speak these things he believes to be true. Elyan has reached up, placed a finger delicately against the curve of Merlin's lips. The action causing Elyan to shiver a single time as he combats the thoughts running through his head. How much he would love to lean forward and kiss those silken petals. Devour them. Make them kiss swollen shades of red!

"Please believe me, Merlin. You are beautiful beyond measure, and I know I am not the only one to believe so. Hopefully, one day, you will understand the true worth of yourself, Merlin. Here. This is for you." Elyan reaches out to take one of Merlin's hands, guiding it to the bow, relinquishing his fondest possession to the man he wishes to court. Of course, Merlin's eyes widen and he begins to splutter, trying to find the words to decline such a sentimental, unique gift, but Elyan will hear none of it!

"I want you to have it, Merlin ... my thanks for the friendship you have extended me. My thanks for all that you have done for me and the other Knights. You go above and beyond duty, and you risk so very much for each of us, without seeking anything for yourself. You are the greatest, most heartfelt person I have ever know." Merlin wraps his second hand around the bow as well, dragging it against himself for a moment as he tries to fathom the words and the gift. It's too much. His mind nearly shuts down as he struggles with it all. "When I return from patrol, we can begin lessons with it .. alright?" Elyan shuffles his feet shyly across the ground, knowing that no matter what happens here, what Merlin says to his next question, he will do exactly as he says. Teach Merlin how to use the gift bestowed upon him.

"T-thank you, Elyan. I .. I will cherish it always." He slides the bow back onto his shoulder, blushing profusely when Elyan leans close to slide the quiver into place as well. Once his hands are free, Elyan reaches to take Merlin's hands in his own, blushing a bit as he forces himself to meet Merlin's gaze.

"I .. I meant every thing I have said about you, Merlin. You are the dearest person I have ever known. With a heart so beautiful and unique, that it is a shame to see it beat alone." He clears his throat, blushes a little deeper as he tries to untwist the sudden knot in his tongue. His stomach flips and flops, and he can feel a layer of heat creeping across his body. "Would you do me the honor of allowing me to .. court you?" His voice cracks on the word court, and he casts his eyes down in mortification! To be so horribly embarrassed in front of the one he has just asked such a question of!

For one disgusting moment, he thinks that Merlin will make fun of him. Latch upon that putrid crack and make a fool of him over it. But that's not Merlin. In the least. So, he is surprised to find one of the hands tug free of his, only to then reach out and press so tenderly against his cheek. Coaxing him to lift his eyes, to take in the smiling, beautiful countenance of the younger man that is beaming at him. And yet, has something sad and apologetic in his vibrant cerulean eyes.

"I am flattered, Elyan .. -honored- by your words and your intent." Elyan feels himself begin to perk up. Feels his heart double it's insistent beat even as his stomach drops out in excitement! This is it ... Merlin will say YES! He will succeed where Gwaine has failed, surely! He feels his insides tie themselves into a knot, expectation growing until it nearly drowns everything else out. Merlin leans forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Elyan's mouth, and the Knight feels something shatter deep within him. This is rejection .. sweet, kind, but rejection all the same. No one kisses that chastely if they intend to pursue something.

"I am sorry, Elyan .. but I cannot be courted by you. I hope we can be dear friends, but my heart .. it .. it belongs to another." And Elyan feels his own break irrevocably at the sheer -sadness- in Merlin's voice. At the -apology- that drips within those words, as if Merlin is truly torn up over the fact that he cannot return Elyan's feelings. Knowing the manservant, that is probably true! He is the most selfless person Elyan has ever known .. and it makes him love the younger man even more.

"Thank you for your honesty, Merlin. And for your continued friendship." He squeezes the hand he still holds before reluctantly sidestepping the youth to climb onto the horse that had been prepared for him. He leans down, presses a quick though somehow still chaste kiss to Merlin's lips, before straightening in the saddle. "I look forward to our lessons. Hyah!" He spurs the horse on, turning to escape out of the courtyard, glad that he has an entire shift of patrol to settle the remnants of his heart. Merlin watches him go, his hand reaching down to touch the bow, stroking the wood sorrowfully, his other hand lifting to scatter the few tears that have rained upon his cheeks away.

"I .. I had no idea that Elyan would give that to Merlin!" Gwen gasps where she stands on the steps, rousing Arthur from his confused contemplation, drawing his attention back to her for a moment.

"What?" He prompts tersely, causing her to jump slightly, turning her surprised, emotion-laden gaze upon her King.

"That bow ... Elyan came to me yesterday and asked me to retrieve it for him. It was the last thing our Father made for him ... a bow to celebrate his coming of age. I had no idea he would give it to .. to -Merlin-!" The way she stresses the man's name rankles Arthur a bit. As if she somehow thinks him less than worthy of the gift. Or maybe she is upset with her brother for giving away a token of sentimental value now that her Father is passed. Either way, he finds that he just doesn't like the tone.

"It was his to do with as he pleased." He reminds her firmly before he heads down the steps, two at a time, toward Merlin. Who is still rooted to the spot, watching Elyan leave.

"That is a rather magnificent weapon." Arthur points out awkwardly, frowning when Merlin doesn't seem to hear him. Or, at least, doesn't bother acknowledging if he does. This rankles the King as well. Why are his Knights giving Merlin gifts .. and why the hell is Merlin then kissing them!? It causes something tight and bestial to coil in his gut and claw at his chest. It makes him uncomfortable. He does not know how to handle discomfort. Not well, at least. As evident by his more prattish moments, as Merlin would call them. He watches Merlin swipe at his cheeks again, and the coiled beast grows angry and restless.

"Come on, I'll teach you how to use it." He offers coolly, hoping that immersing himself in the violent tasks he is used to, will lessen the strange ache of anger inside. Merlin shakes his head a single time.

"No."

"What do you mean no, Merlin?" Arthur draws out, Merlin's name popping from his frowning lips in a scoff of air. Merlin frowns, though his King cannot see it.

"What part of -no- do you not understand, Sire? No. N-o. No. Elyan is going to teach me when he returns from patrol. Clotpole!" Merlin snarls that last word almost viciously, and turns, running toward the stairs and into the Castle. If he notices the deep frown on Gwen's features, he doesn't acknowledge it. Arthur simply stares after him, mouth hanging open in confusion. How in the -world- would Elyan, a simple KNIGHT, be better equipped to teach Merlin than the bloody KING would be!? He swallows down a sneer and snarl, and turns to stalk toward the steps as well. Though not moving after Merlin. No, if he were to follow his manservant, he'd most likely box his ears or something.


	4. Leon

**Leon**

* * *

Tournaments. They are a repetitive occurrence in Camelot as there seems no end of reason to hold them. Same as the feasts that the King finds any little reason to hold! But at least feasts rarely ended in bloodshed, broken limbs, and blood feuds. Okay, that's not entirely true. Feasts seem to draw in magical assassins and any number of other people wishing to destroy the King of Camelot for whatever reason tickles their fancies. But still, Merlin most definitely likes the feasts more than he likes the tournaments! There is nothing to like about swordplay, lancework, mending armor, and deity only knows what else! It irks him to no end, having to stand in the hot sun while a bunch of pride-driven fools beat each other with their weapons. Ugh!

He waves a hand in front of his face as a fly zooms about his nose. Buzzing and annoying him.

"What is this particular tournament for, Sire?" He drawls out, his annoyance evident in his voice as he stands beside Arthur. Though the King cannot enter into this tournament himself, he has decided to watch from the sidelines rather than from the throne perched above the happenings. And, of course, he would have Merlin at his side as he watches. Finding the usual amount of amusement in his discomfort and annoyance, though he tries not to let it show.

"Because it is another day?" He counters, his tone playfully acerbic, causing Merlin to throw his hands up in frustration.

"And knowing you, your Royal Pratness, that is entirely true!" The usual snark of Merlin's words brings a lopsided smirk to Arthur's lips, though he ensures that it is on the part of his mouth furthest away from his servant, so that Merlin won't actually see it.

"How many times, Merlin? You cannot -talk- to me that way." he whines the words, though he would swear up and down that his tone is in no way a -whine-, thank you very much! Kings do not whine ... especially not at their servants-who-may-actually-be-their-best-friend-and-most-trusted adviser. A fact that will never be made known, not even to said servant.

"Whatever you say, cabbagehead. I mean, KING Cabbagehead." He amends with the grave air of someone trying to be so very solemn and serious, and Arthur can't help himself. He laughs deeply, happily, at the words. Even if he does not verbally acknowledge the truth, they both know he would be well put out if Merlin ever stopped addressing him with such fond disrespect. It is part of the charm of their .. association. Even in his own thoughts, he struggles never to use the term friend. It is a dangerous concept.

Before he can retort as he usually would, the clearing of a throat catches them both by surprise. They turn as one to see Sir Leon standing there, his cheeks a fair pink of embarrassment under his beard. Arthur quirks a brow, Merlin merely offers that unabashed grin of his. Indeed, Merlin looks almost as if he has been expecting Leon to interrupt them, a fact that makes Arthur suddenly feel very uneasy.

"Leon. Good luck in your upcoming bout." Arthur offers his good wishes, frowning when all Leon does is mumble a thanks, his gaze on Merlin the entire time.

"Merlin, might I have a moment of your time?" Before Merlin can say anything, Leon's eyes finally flick toward Arthur, and the King is surprised to see that it is with a look of nervousness. Is there something he wishes to discuss with the manservant that Arthur is not supposed to overhear? It irks him. Anger fills him, and his hands clench into fists at his side.

"What on earth -"

"Sure, Leon. Come on." Arthur's words are cut off by Merlin's bright grin and his hand flashing out to grab at Leon's arm. Guiding him a few feet away from Arthur. Merlin is smart enough not to take himself out of Arthur's line of sight while he's upset, but moving far enough that he and Leon can have a modicum of privacy.

"What can I do for you, Leon?" The knight glances up, reading the amusement and sadness in Merlin's eyes. Not surprising, as he is sure Merlin has worked out what is going to happen. And as sorrowful as it is, Leon isn't expecting anything to come of his trying, but he cannot help himself. He has to do this. Just as they all do. In case there is even a small sliver of chance!

"I know that you are not the biggest fan of the tournaments, Merlin, and I cannot blame you. You have a gentle heart and soul that is far better and above petty pursuits of the sword." Merlin's cheeks erupt in a blush, his gaze immediately dropping down to observe his dirty boots on the ground. why is everyone suddenly so hell bent on complimenting him!? He is so not used to any true praise, that he is beside himself trying to understand why they are suddenly speaking this way, and how he is supposed to react. He scuffs the edge of his boot across the ground, feeling a bit foolish as he struggles to think of something he could say.

"Merlin .." The gentle probing of Leon's voice finally draws his gaze upward, and when he sees the warm, welcoming smile on the older man's face, he feels all the tension drain from himself. He relaxes instantly.

"Yes, Leon?" He prompts, the only form of consent he can give for what Leon wishes to say. The knight clears his throat, shifts a little uncomfortably from foot to foot, before he decides that the best thing to do is power on. Let his truth be known.

"Forgive me for taking you from the King's side, but I wished to do this before my bout." He hopes that he will draw strength from making his move, even if he is turned down. He pulls a piece of red cloth, Pendragon red of course, from his sword belt and carefully unwraps it. Merlin gasps and gapes at the little ring nestled within. Well, it's not little, really. It is a thick circle, much like the ring that Arthur wears on his pointer finger. It's the same broad, silver band, though this one is etched with a pretty leaf and vine design. It's delicate and yet masculine, all at the same time. Leon lifts the ring from the cloth, shoving the cloth back into his belt as he smiles shyly at Merlin.

"I know that I am not one to often .. pontificate or extol the virtues of another, but Merlin ... surely you must know that you are the best of us. I do not know why Arthur did not Knight you .. it is a question we have all asked ourselves, rather angrily truth be told, but could not come up with an answer. You are the most loyal, faithful, bravest of us all. You run head long into danger without armor or sword, do every thing in your power to ensure we are not only looked after, but that we are more likely to come home. You mean the world to each of us, and if we had our way, you would be knighted in an instant." Merlin's mouth falls open in surprise when Leon casts an almost scathing look over his shoulder, to where Arthur is out and out staring at the two of them, trying to figure out what is going on. What exchange is happening between them. When he registers the angry look Leon gives him, his brows shoot up in confusion, and he honestly has to fight not to march over there and ask what the hell!?

"Leon, we both know that I am not Knight material. I cannot handle a sword, and I probably never will be able to." He sighs, Leon reaching out immediately to place his free hand on Merlin's neck. Grasping him tenderly where neck and shoulder meet, causing Merlin to blush even deeper.

"You are capable with a sword, though no, not skilled. But your progress with the bow has impressed even the King, Merlin. And if not a knight .. damn it, he should swallow his blasted pride and make you an adviser of some sort! We all know how much he depends on your abilities and advice." Leon huffs a breath angrily, and Merlin sighs. He lifts his hand to grasp Leon's and peels it away from his skin. Only to turn and place a sweet kiss against his gloved palm, quelling Leon's anger instantly. Causing the Knight to blush a bit, instead.

"Be calm, Leon. The King has his reasons, I'm sure." Merlin strives to soothe the other man, and smiles brilliantly when it works. Leon gently takes hold of Merlin's left hand, sliding the ring onto his pointer finger with a smile.

"You are a soothing balm for a pained soul, Merlin. So very dear." Once the ring is in place, he lifts Merlin's hand, pressing his lips in a tender kiss across the ring and finger, making Merlin's eyes drift closed in a moment of pleasure. "This ring belonged to my Father. An heirloom that has been passed down for several generations. I wish you to have it." Merlin's eyes widen, his finger carefully tracing across the ring for a moment as a myriad of emotions plays across his handsome features.

"Oh, Leon .. I am not worthy of such a gift .. but I will wear it with happiness and pride!" He gasps softly, his tear stained eyes lifting to meet Leon's, the knight beaming from ear to ear with happiness. The knight lifts his hand to cup Merlin's cheek .. studying the younger man's handsome features for a moment, before sighing and letting the hand fall.

"I .. I will not ask, Merlin .. what the others have. I fear I already know the answer, but .. thank you. For allowing me to be your friend, if nothing else." Merlin sniffles, tears falling across his cheeks, sparkling like stardust as he regards the Knight for a moment. He does not make a conscious decision to act, but instead, follows the instinct of his poor, battered and bruised heart. He reaches up to tug the neckerchief from his throat, the dull red, frayed material one of his few prized possessions. Beyond the gifts he has recently been receiving. He gently ties the piece of material around Leon's armored bicep, causing the Knight to gasp in surprise. To almost whimper in happiness at the token of favor bestowed upon him.

"I cannot give you my heart, Leon .. I am no longer in possession of it. But please, wear this token of favor and friendship, and know that you have a place of fondness with me." Once the material is secured, he moves close enough to slide his arms tightly around the other man. Burying his face in the crook of Leon's neck as tears continue to bathe his cheeks. He wishes .. he wishes that he could do this. That he could give up the pain of his broken heart and choose one of these beautiful, sweet men to love. But love is irrational .. unpredictable, and it chooses what it chooses, without logic or mercy.

"Oh, Merlin .. I shall wear it with pride, dear boy! Thank you!" Leon kisses the top of Merin's black hair, before he reluctantly pulls away. He stiffens when he glances over and sees that Arthur has approached them. Anger on his features. Leon turns his attention back to Merlin, dipping a respectful bow.

"I will do my best to win this tournament in your name, Merlin. May your favor bolster my strength." The knight then turns and sweeps away, leaving a still quietly crying Merlin hunched over, a seething King standing behind him.

'What was all of that about, Merlin? you gave him your -favor-?" The King growls those words out between gritted teeth, and Merlin wishes that he could curl up in on himself.

"Yes, I gave him my favor, SIRE. Is there something wrong with that?" He runs his fingers across his cheeks, trying to wipe the remnants of tears away before he glances down at the ring. After a moment, his other hand lifts, fingers running across the barely visible chain that he now wears. Proof that there are those that love him, even if he cannot fully return the sentiment.

"You are such a -girl-, Merlin." He draws out the syllables of Merlin's name, an edge to his voice that he cannot explain. Merlin sniffles a single time, before casting a disgusted, angry glare at Arthur over his shoulder.

"No, I am not. And while you think so little of me, it's obvious every one else doesn't. So just .. just ... go to hell, your Highness!" He screams the words, his voice wavering and then cracking before he turns and runs from the area.

"Merlin!?" He calls after his friend, taking a confused step toward the spot the servant had just stood, before frowning darkly and shaking his head. The King of Camelot cannot be seen running after a blasted servant .. no matter how much he wants to .. or how much it feels as if he should. He crosses his arms and turns back to watch the tournament.

For some reason, he's not that surprised when Sir Leon wins, clutching the favor of Merlin's neckerchief in his hand as he celebrates his victory. Nor is he surprised when his stomach and heart clench.


	5. Percival

**Percival**

* * *

It is a strange thing, training with the Knights in such a fashion. Rather than strapped with ill fitting armor, forced to hold a shield for dear life while Arthur wails on him, it is a unique experience to be allowed to train -with- the Knights. Almost as if their -equal-, though he would never allow himself to voice such a thought out loud. Despite the warm words and pledges they had offered him, he finds that he cannot express the words that would put him at the same level as the Knights.

"Good form, Merlin!" Elyan practically croons as Merlin sinks a long shot, grinning. "Soon, we will have to take you into the wood and practice with some moving shots!" Merlin feels his cheeks heat with his flush, shifting his weight from foot to foot, the excitement still strange. Though he knows that the crossbow is more powerful, he finds joy in the fact that he has mastered the bow. Or, at least, is on his way toward mastering it!

"Thank you, Elyan, I look forward to it." Merlin knocks another arrow, and right before he would've let it fly, he feels all happiness draining from himself. He shoves the arrow into his quiver, a scowl coloring his features.

"Of course, that is assuming that the King will -allow- you to take a simple servant out for lessons, my lord." He snaps those words out, coldly, his anger at Arthur returning tenfold despite the time that has passed since the tournament. He glances down at the ring on his finger. He had felt it rub against the bowstring several times, and it had brought him a strange kind of .. comfort. His gifts have been a soothing balm for his frayed nerves, but no balm works indefinitely. He can feel his anger peeking back up, and he really doesn't want to let the anger win out!

He shoves the bow back onto his shoulder, his hands dancing up to tug and twist at his ebon bangs. Wincing ever so slightly as pain skyrockets across his head.

"Merlin?" The sound of his name drifts upon the wind, and he finds himself fluttering his lashes several times before he can force his eyes to focus on the source of his name. Percival. The Gentle Giant as they all refer to him, though seldom to his face, of course. When they do manage to slip up and use the fond nickname, it is usually met with a ducking of the head, stammered words too garbled to understand, and a blush that could be considered nothing short of adorable on the large man.

"Well met, Perce!" Merlin calls out happily, extending one of his arms with a false sense of cheerfulness that he does not feel at the moment, forcing the hot roar of his angry blood to settle and quite in himself. Percival, ever the watchful, silent gentle giant, reaches out to clasp Merlin. Just, not in the usual way. He doesn't seek the expanse of his forearm, doesn't grasp lightly at his elbow. Instead, he takes the curve of Merlin's fingers within his hand's embrace and lifts them. Gently cover his other hand over the hand as he stares, worried, down into Merlin's surprised doe eyes.

"Mer ... what's wrong? Who has angered you so? Point me in their direction, and I'll tear them limb from limb!" The vehemence of the threat acts as further balm to his fractured nerves, and the smile he suddenly offers the older, larger man is real. It even reaches his deep blue sea eyes as he reaches up to clasp a hand on Percival's bicep. Squeezing gently before he angles him toward the Castle behind them. He points toward the window of their beloved king, sighing.

"Yonder window, Perce. That is where the object of my ire lurks." He huffs the words tenderly, managing a bit of a wispy laugh. Of course, he had no way of knowing that Percival would glare at Arthur's window, drop his hand, and begin to WALK IN THAT DIRECTION!? Merlin swallows heavily and takes off at a jog, grabbing Percival's hand and giving it a mighty tug.

"Percival, where on earth are you going!?" He nearly squeaks the words, unable to recognize himself in the desperate plea, hoping that Percival will see reason before he can do something .. foolish.

"I heard what happened at the tournament .. that you ran from him. I also know that he would hardly take no for an answer when you wanted Elyan to teach you the bow. His behavior toward you is deplorable, Merlin! All the name calling, the chores that aren't even fit for a damned slave, and he expects you to do it all! It's time I had a bloody good word with him." Merlin winces at the anger, no RAGE, pent up in his friend's words. He lets the hand he is tugging ineffectually at drop, and runs forward to plant himself in Percival's path, putting the two of them right beneath Arthur's open window. He reaches out to grab both of Percival's biceps, the action stopping the larger man instantly as he looks down into Merlin's frantic, scared eyes.

"Please, Perce ... there is no reason to do this. Yes .. he can a regular ass, but ... please. Just .. don't. I don't want you getting hurt over me, please. Yes, he has done some terrible things, but most of them he doesn't mean. You know how he can be." Unknown to the two men staring into each other's eyes, Arthur has walked to the window and cracked it an inch, coming into the conversation on Merlin's last bit. Suddenly wondering who it was that had done Merlin some kind of injustice, so much so that the gentle giant was apparently ready to intercede!? And -WHY- hadn't Merlin come to HIM about this!? Had Percival stumbled upon an untoward situation that Merlin did not wish to be in? He feels his heart clench, followed moments later by his jaw and fist. No, if Merlin is having such a problem -he- will be the one to sort it out. HE will be the one to Champion him! Not Leon .. not Gwaine .. -certainly- not Percival, damn it! He leans back in the shadows, still listening.

"I .. oh, alright, Merlin. I will let you deal with this .. but if it continues, so help me, no matter how much you care for him, I might remove his head from his body." Merlin squeezes Percival's biceps one more time before he gently disengages his hands and rocks back on his heels.

"Oh, Percival .. you know he's not that bad. I .." Merlin lifts his hands suddenly, pressing his palms tightly against his eyes as a preemptive strike against any tears that might try to work their way free. He's tired of crying. Tired of feeling dizzy and unstable every step of every day. He exhales darkly, forcing himself to push past every thing that he is feeling inside.

"Merlin ... oh, Mer ..." Percival sighs the words, wrapping his strong arms around the younger man and pulling him close. Merlin thrusts his face against Percival's chest, the sound of the gentle giant's heartbeat calming him. Softening the tidal wave of emotion through him. Smoothing out the edges, allowing him to breathe once more! He exhales against Percival's chest, the knight shivering a little before he pulls back. Flashing that slow to show grin that softens his otherwise rugged features.

"I'll be alright, Perce. Thank you." The heartfelt truth in those words warms the knight, and he reluctantly lets his arms fall fully from around the slighter man. Merlin's head cants to the side as he watches Percival begin to shuffle and rearrange himself. Trying to figure out what is causing the man to seem shy and nervous. Or, at least, more so than usual. When he clears his throat but fails to say anything, it all seems to click into place for Merlin. No! NONONO! Percival was going to .. just as the others had ... Merlin draws in a silent, shaky breath.

"Merlin, since we are alone .. there's something I'd like to talk to you about ..." Percival stumbles and falls over the words, his tongue suddenly feeling too large for his mouth. Above the scene, Arthur is still hovering at the half open window, obscured from the others by shadow. He is floundering. So very confused about what the hell is happening below him! Who is it that would be so foolish as to be cared for by Merlin and still turn around and hurt him someway? And honestly, if Percival thought that -he- would get first crack at whoever the bastard is, he is sadly mistaken! That is Arthur's -right-. Merlin is his. His to command, and also his to protect. This should be known by -all- of his Knights by now.

"I .. bought something for you." Percival shifts a little where he is standing, scuffing his boot across the ground before he reaches into his sword belt and plucks out a crinkled piece of parchment wrapped about something. He holds it awkwardly out to Merlin, who takes it with a fond smile on his sad features. He fingers the wrapping paper for a long moment, before he finds the uneven edge and carefully peels it back. The first thing he notices is a deep, vibrant red. Pendragon red, to be precise. It's material of some kind .. it looks shiny and beautiful. He carefully fishes it out, and he cannot help the soft gasp that falls from his pursed lips.

"Oh, Perce .. it's beautiful!" He practically squeals the word beautiful, though he's far too happy to think less of himself for such a sound. He shivers at the cool, silky texture of the new neckerchief that is the perfect Pendragon red, with the Pendragon crest on it, and a perfectly stitched P on it. He whimpers, a lusty, happy sound, and Percival nearly faceplants as the sound reverberates around his head. Digs into the pit of his stomach and spreads warmth through out him.

Merlin turns immediately, expectantly, holding the piece of cloth up. Percival's fingers are quivering as he takes it, nearly dropping the poor pice of fabric several times before he manages to get his nerves under control. As he wracks his brain trying to find a way to make Merlin make -that- sound again. He carefully slips the fabric around Merlin's throat, fingers brushing his warm, pale skin momentarily as he settles the material. And then carefully ties it off at the nape of his friend's neck. Finding himself possessed of a fowardness he is not usually capable of, he leans down, drags the curve of his lips across the shelf of Merlin's neck. Feeling the other man shudder beneath him. Further emboldened, he trails kisses up toward one of his large, impressive ears. He nibbles at the shell of his ear, and is -finally- rewarded with another of those lusty sounds as Merlin turns. And jumps him. Literally.

Merlin leaps up, wrapping his legs around Percival's hips, hands grabbing tightly at his shoulders. The gentle giant manages to grab him around the waist before gravity takes hold, smashing Merlin's body against his own as their lips meet in a heated, lush kiss. Teeth clicking, lips clashing, feral and wanton for the beautiful moment it lasts. But it can't last forever. Eventually, they have to come up for air, and the action quashes the desire that burned through the younger man. The feel of the silk and then lips, across the sensitive expanse of his neck had whipped him into a frenzy of need that he has not felt in so very long. But, he knows that this .. would be a mistake.

He drops from Percival's arms, both of them missing the strangled gasp from the window above them as Arthur jumps away from the scene. Unable to watch it anymore. Unable to conceive of the fact that Merlin had just been straddling Percival while trying to suck the very breath from the other man's lips. And now .. now, it's -Arthur- that can't breathe. He feels as if the light and air have been siphoned from the room, and he feels dizzy with the lack of both. He turns and rages, smashing the wine pitcher on his desk, kicking a chair across the room, upending the table as his breath huffs and puffs from his pursed lips. Spittle flying in his rage.

Merlin and Percival both jump, looking around for a moment. The sounds from the window above them are muffled and vague, bouncing off so many different directions in the courtyard, they are unsure where they have come from. Merlin clears his throat, the finger baring Leon's ring lifting to finger the neckerchief for a moment before he glances toward Percival again.

"I .. gods, I could push you against this wall and have my way with you in an instant, Percival .. give every inch of my body to your rough, talented hands .." It's Percival's turn to whimper lustily, licking his bottom lip fervently, all too able to picture Merlin doing just that. Merlin clears his throat lightly, forcing himself to take several steps away from the other man.

"But that .. that is all it would be, Perce. Mindless, without heart. I .. I don't want that. Not really. I .. I care for another. I .. gods, I'm so sorry!" He rushes forward, jumps up to press one more heated kiss against Percival's lips before he turns and runs from the scene. Stumbling over his own feet several times as he tries to run away from what had almost happened here.

Not for the first time, he finds himself wishing that he could just forsake his heart and pick the Knights. But he can never be that person. Never. Even if it hurts to be in love.


	6. First Ending

**First Ending**

* * *

Quietly, he watched. As each and every one of them approached Merlin. With trinkets, pretty words, and offers of courtship. He is not the type to begrudge anyone their love, their devotion. But it rankles him. That they have each waited this long. That they have each just now seemed to reach out and take an interest in the amazing young man. Some part of him understands, given how close Arthur has always clung to the servant, but another part of him .. is offended on his friend's behalf.

He heaves a heavy breath, watching as a faint vapor envelops it, clouding his vision for a split second.

Gwaine. That one had not surprised him. Not really. The braggart often boasted how close he was to Merlin. How close they had become over the chance meetings that brought them together again and again. And from those chance meetings, a sort of devoted friendship had sprung. Gwaine showed a loyalty to Merlin that most only saw displayed by Merlin for Arthur. So, his move to courtship of the young warlock had surprised no one but Merlin. Well, and maybe Arthur. King though he may be, there is a lack of understanding in the youth that amuses him in many ways. Annoys him, as well, though he would never consciously harbor such thoughts. Let alone have the guts to speak them, as Merlin always seems to.

Elyan. Leon. Percival. One by one, he watched them present their gifts, extol Merlin's virtues, and receive his kiss. It pains him. Digs deep into his heart and leaves him feeling ... shaken. He should not feel this way. His heart .. it belongs to another. And yet, could it not be argued there is room in a heart for two? After all, isn't that the bane of his existence at the moment!?

He scuffs his boot across the floor, feeling his heart give a quivered beat that causes his chest to openly ache. He is consumed with feelings of angst and pain. And yet, a single sliver of hope dares strive to bloom within him as he carries himself toward the Court Physician's chambers, the direction in which he saw Merlin retreat.

He considers knocking .. even considers calling out to see if Gauis is on the other side of the door, but the bare hint of a sniffle from deep within the heart of the room makes his decision for him. He pushes the door open, pushing it closed as quietly as he can. He knows Merlin well enough to know that the young Warlock would not wish anyone to see his current frazzled state. Probably not even himself, but he will not turn back. Will not abandon the poor, broken creature. He holds him too dear for such a thing.

Merlin is standing at the back of the room, his hands balled into quaking fists that press against the top of the table there. He is shaking, slow and steady, and for a moment, it could be mistaken for sobs. And yet, after just a few seconds of watching, it isn't. He's just shaking with emotion. Telegraphing the anguish he's free falling in. That is too much for the one watching to take. He feels something shatter deep within and he moves silently across the room.

He wraps his arms tightly around the slighter male from behind, his hands moving to clasp together across Merlin's stomach. Maybe he had been expecting his friend to be surprised or something, but he isn't. Merlin melts gently back against him, the back of his head coming to rest against his shoulder. He tilts his head just enough to breathe in the scent of his sun-kissed hair, the mix of dust, sweat, sunshine, and musk making his head swim for a moment.

"This has been torture, Merlin." The words clog his throat with unshed tears of frustration that are soothed by the touch of Merlin's hand across the back of his own. He relaxes instantly, though his hold does not loosen. He has no intention of letting go anytime soon, if he doesn't have to. "Watching them all come to you with gifts and pretty words. Watching you kiss them one by one." He exhales a heated, anger-laden breath, causing Merlin to tremble briefly in his arms.

"I wouldn't embarrass them by turning their gifts down. Couldn't just push them away after they plucked up the courage, either, could I?" He laughs, his breath once more ghosting across Merlin as his head bobs in acknowledgement. Any one else would have had no trouble taking a step back, returning the gifts and walking away without some display of compassion and favor. But Merlin is not most people. He feels every thing too deep, too true and it worries him. He is scared that one day, he will lose his friend to those depthless emotions. It is a terrifying thought.

"You? No. You couldn't. Were it anyone else? Yes, they could have. You are too pure and magnificent for your own good, Merlin." He sighs, his lips brushing the shell of Merlin's ear. Teeth grazing the sensitive flesh for a single moment, but that is all it takes to reduce the warlock to a quivering mess in his arms.

"I cannot help being who I am, Lancelot. Besides .. you would have me no other way." The Knight laughs warmly, squeezes the slender frame all the tighter to himself for a moment.

"This is very true, love. I would have you no other way, because no other way would be Merlin. You are perfect just as you are." He can feel heat radiating from the younger man as he ducks his head with a blush. It never ceases to amaze him, how beautiful the ethereal creature is when he is being complimented .. and having so much trouble accepting the praise. "It angers me. Makes me ... jealous ... that they now see what I have seen from the moment I met you." Lancelot's eyes flutter closed, his arms tightening around the lanky male without even realizing he has done so.

"You were like .. an angel, or one of the Fair Folk when I swooped in and tried to slay the Griffin to keep it from you. When we hid behind that fallen log, the last thought I had was that I could die free of concern, with a happy soul, as long as someone as beautiful and brave as you survived." Merlin's cheeks flood further with heat, and Lancelot can stand it no longer. He carefully twists the man in his arms until they are face to face. And he can lean forward. Claim those sensual, full lips with his own in a kiss that barely boarders on chaste.

"Oh, Lance .." Merlin murmurs in utter exasperation before he leans fully into the kiss. Giving himself to his friend and protector.

For several moments they rest like that. Lance's arms around Merlin, Merlin's hands dug into the fabric of his tunic above his heart as their lips meet over and over in sweet kisses. Once they must part to suck in much needed breath, they both sigh heavily.

"I did nothing to encourage them. I hope you reali-" Lance lifts a hand, a single finger pressed tenderly to Merlin's lips to silence him. That slow smile curling across his rugged features.

"I know, love. I know. You do not have to encourage. Your very being inspires hope for that which they cannot have. But they are honorable .. loyal, and true. They will not bother you again, now. We .. we can continue as we are now .. if that is still what you wish." He tries to hide the fear in his words, knowing they have talked about this before. Discussed it in length once he had returned to Camelot. Once Arthur had restored his knighthood and he had taken up permanent residence in the Castle. His finger slips free of Merlin's lip. Reaching up to lightly twist a strand of his hair.

Merlin regards him for a long moment .. his head tilted at a fair angle, pushing him closer to the caress. Those large, expressive eyes drink in every detail of Lancelot's unreadable features, and the knight feels his stomach clench painfully. Merlin is a tapestry of open emotion, so easily studied and appreciated. At the moment, his very being is painted across his visage, a portrait of love .. and pain. Lancelot's heart stutters in it's beat, and he knows that pain is there because of him. Because no matter what agreement they have reached, no matter what exists between them, Merlin is not his first love. And never can be.

For a knight considered the bravest and truest, the most virtuous, he is anything but. He is using his friend and he knows it. But he cannot quite Merlin. No matter how many times he has tried. Because he has. After each meeting, each encounter, after every late night of whispered words, he has promised himself it will be the last. That he will never hurt Merlin again by coming to him. But then the young man smiles at him, waves, or shares that part of himself he shares with none of the others, and he is right back to Merlin's side. He is love's bitch, twice over, and it is destroying something deep inside of him. Corroding the virtues he has struggled to hold tight.

"Lancelot .." Merlin's speaks his name with a breathy sadness that makes the Knight's hand twist into a heavy fist. It sounds .. gods, it sounds as if Merlin is about to break what is left of Lancelot's heart, and the man isn't sure he could handle that. After everything that has happened .. watching Gwen with Arthur .. finding out that the idiot is finally ready to marry her, and now, watching all of the Knights going after Merlin, the only thing he has left to call his own ... he can't take this! He sucks in a stilted breath, and feels his knees begin to give way when Merlin reaches out to wrap both hands in his tunic. Dragging him close. "I can't give you up, Lancelot." Merlin admits in feather soft tones before smashing his lips hungrily against the older man's. Drowning in the lie that Lancelot can ever love him.

The knight's hands grab at the slighter man. Press against his sides, his hips, the perfect curve of his asscheeks as he drags him all the closer.

"I know .. I know I can n-never be her .. but .. I can still be there .. for you." The breathless tumble of words from Merlin makes Lancelot whimper. No. He can never be Guinevere. He can never be the first one that Lancelot fell in love with, but it doesn't change the fact that the warlock has a place in his heart. And always will.

"I love you, Merlin .. I do. Not .. not like I love her, but I -DO- love you. My beautiful warlock." He turns unsteadily, grabbing desperately at Merlin's hand as he drags him toward the warlock's room. A room he remembers well. A room that he had shared with the younger man when he first came to Camelot. When he first fell for the bumbling, brave fool that gave him reason to continue on.

"I love you too, Lancelot." The younger man speaks those words passionately, kicking the door behind him closed before Lancelot can shove him down onto the small bed, brushing lustful kisses across his cheeks and jaw.


	7. Second Ending

_**note:**_ So yeah, this chapter got away from me. Not really surprising, considering who it is about! I hope every one has enjoyed the story! I have several more planned for this fandom, and cannot wait to get them done so that I can post them!

* * *

 **Second Ending**

* * *

His entire life has just been shoved off it's axis and then promptly punted into the heavens! The view of Merlin wrapped around Percival like some kind of man devouring vine has altered the flow of his reality and he wants it to STOP! He will ORDER it to, if he must! The rest of that evening saw him pacing through his chambers, grunting and grumbling to himself before he finally gave up trying to find reason in the events of the past few weeks. In the end, he decided that there was absolutely -no- reason for him to wish to bash all of his Knights over the head for the gifts and kisses exchanged with Merlin, and that there is -definitely- no reason for him to want to lock Merlin up in his chambers and yank every single one of those gifts off.

Once that was settled, he was free to throw himself into bed and try and get some sleep. Forget the fact that there was still light streaming in his window, that he hadn't eaten supper, not to mention the fact that he's still dressed in his council clothing! Sleep would surely solve all of this ... right?

* * *

By morning, everything is, of course, worse! He dreamed of Merlin. Of the wide eyed little fool in a state of ripped clothing and tangled limbs, surrounded by his lecherous Knights as they pawed at his flesh. Marked his neck and made him make such sweet, lusty sounds. So, of course, he woke up sweating, hard, and pissed off! He tore his covers off, locked his chamber doors, and ripped his clothes off.

Once he could force himself to settle in his chair and take care of his throbbing problem, he lay in a sodden heap on the floor. Panting for breath. Cursing Merlin, his Knights, and every thing else he could think to curse!

A quick clean in his water basin, change into a simple pair of black breeches and a Pendragon red tunic with his sword belted at his waist. Now, he feels normal again. He feels -right-. The remnants of his dream burn away with the coming of the morning sun, and he revels in the fact that he finally feels as if he's on even footing again. That strange imbalance is something he never wishes to feel again. Since becoming King, it seems as if there is very little truly in his control, and he would rather his mind and body both be!

With this new found sense of calm and happiness, he decides that today is a day for doing what he wants, rather than what he's obliged to do! There are no council meetings scheduled, nothing that needs his official attention, so he decides to get back to what he enjoys most; training the Knights! It feels like ages since he was able to put them through their paces. And no, this has absolutely -nothing- to do with wanting to beat them down for their behavior toward Merlin these past few weeks. (He actually means that, too! He's not just rationalizing to himself or anything else like that.) With a quick, simple breakfast gathered from the kitchen by himself, he heads down to the training field, feeling in high spirits!

... until he actually gets there. The first thing he sees .. is Percival standing behind Merlin. With one hand on the flat of the manservant's back, the other hand pressed against Merlin's where he's gripping a sword. The image of Merlin wrapped around Percival like a second skin from the previous day is enough to send his blood boiling and to bring snatches of his dream to the forefront of his mind. The way that Dream Percival's hand had been tangled in Merlin's hair, tugging.

He swallows heavily, feeling his limbs grow leaden and a bit unruly.

"I'm glad to see everyone up early to practice. Merlin, put that damn sword away. It's wasted on you." He snaps the last bit, a small mote of satisfaction burning deep in his belly as Merlin jumps and immediately shoves the handle of the blade into Percival's hand. The Gentle Giant, however, is not smiling. In fact, he looks down right mad at Arthur, though he is smart enough not to say anything. He turns and strolls to the weapon rack, replacing the sword for now. Merlin uses that moment to put himself on the other side of the arena barrier, taking himself firmly out of the presence of the others as Arthur moves in to begin assigning training partners.

"Percival, you and Elyan." He snaps out, missing the scowl exchanged between the two before they grab sword and shield and move toward the middle of the arena. The rest of the Knights and Arthur move off to the side to observe. Of course, Arthur misses Gwaine sidling over to slip out of the arena and lean next to Merlin on the railing.

"He was out of line on that, Merlin. I hope you know the rest of us don't feel that way?" It touches Merlin, makes him feel all warm inside, to have Gwaine admit that. He knows that the rest of them don't find him useless. Hell, he even knows that Arthur doesn't, not really. Not -deep- down. This just has to be one of his moods. And, of course, it makes his heart clench and stutter as he tries to find out what could have made Arthur verbally lash out like that. Shouldn't he be used to it by now? But, well .. being in love with the grade a Prat hasn't lessened how badly it stings when he throws those biting words at him. At least, not the times where he actually seems to MEAN them. Those times lash the poor warlock open. Flay the skin from his bones and leave him bleeding and broken on the inside. Because he would never be so cruel as to show Arthur what those words truly do to him. It would be wrong. Very wrong.

"I know, Gwaine. And he really doesn't, either. You know that. He must just be having a bad day .." Merlin's words trail off when he realizes that Gwaine is out and out glaring at him. Because he is defending Arthur's bad mood. Again. As he always does. He takes a deep breath, about to say something, when any chance is taken away.

"GWAINE!" Arthur snarls the knight's name, causing said Knight to jump and stare at where the King is standing. His features a bright, angry red. Gwaine blinks slowly, trying to figure out what has caused the King to come apart like that. He casts a side-long glance to where his hand is lightly brushing the side of Merlin's arm. He hadn't even realized he was doing it! His fingers still, and he's not sure if he imagines it, but it looks almost as if Arthur's jaw unclenches just a fraction. Interesting!

"One moment, Princess. I was just having a word with Merlin." Gwaine drawls out the nickname he had not used in several weeks. As if Arthur's crowning had somehow finally earned him the respect of the Knight. More likely, he had just worn himself out on using the word. But now? Now, he has purpose! He reaches up, his fingers dancing along the clothed expanse of Merlin's chest to grasp the chain that rests against his neck. He carefully pulls the trinkets from under the shirt, letting them fall out, in plain view, for the King to see. He runs his fingertips across the edge of Merlin's neck, causing the younger man to shiver and let out the softest hint of a whimper. Enough to inflame the knight, though Gwaine actually has no intent to act on it. No, he is .. experimenting. Testing a theory, if you will.

And the theory proves true in the very next second. Because Arthur has appeared, his hand clamped hard enough on Gwaine's shoulder that he will sport a bruise there later in the day. He physically shoves the knight toward the arena, somehow managing not to snarl like the rabid animal he seems to be impersonating at the moment.

"Leon! You and Gwaine." Arthur's words drip with anger and may as well have been a verbal order for Leon not to take it easy on Gwaine. Though Leon himself looks just as upset as Gwaine had been moments ago. As Percival had been. None of them liked Arthur taking the sword away from the manservant, insinuating that he had no right to learn to fight. It angers them -all-. As far as they are concerned, Arthur should have -ordered- Merlin to study combat more for all the times he insists that the unarmed servant follow them into the worst kinds of danger.

Arthur steps rigidly away from a wide eyed, trembling Merlin. Who, with shaky hands, manages to tuck the necklace back beneath the collar of his shirt. After a moment of struggling to regain his breath, Merlin manages to lean against the railing once more. Of course, that can't be the end of it, can it? No, of course not. Because this has to continue, until someone finally cracks!

Now that the attention is on Gwaine and Leon, Percival comes waltzing over to where Merlin is leaning. He hesitates for a moment, before leaning right next to him. Close enough that their arms brush lightly.

"You alright, Mer?" He questions in soft, concerned tones, though he doesn't glance over at him or anything. Hoping that if he keeps his voice low, Arthur won't realize he's over there.

"Yeah. Just .. confused, Perce." Merlin's voice is broken, a quivering mess of emotion, and it wounds the Gentle Giant. Angers him. He throws a scathing look at Arthur's back, before standing straight. His fingers curl under Merlin's chin, coaxing the younger man to stand straight and turn to face him. When he realizes that there are unshed tears in Merlin's eyes, he finds himself wanting to walk over and smack Arthur. No, not even smack. No. He wants to punch him square in his arsehat jaw! He sucks in a deep, silent breath.

"Yeah, don't blame you, Mer. He's an emotionally constipated toddler, ain't he?" Merlin's eyes widen, and he physically shoves both of his hands across his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Though he is utterly impressed at the rather spot on description. Percival lights up with a beaming smile when he realizes he has cheered the manservant up. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy, as it usually does.

"He is, isn't he?" Merlin snickers softly at that, all the tension draining from his body as he leans his hip lightly against the railing. Percival moves his hand from Merlin's chin, brushing fingers teasingly down the curve of his jaw until his fingers catch in the neckerchief. Merlin sucks in a silent, sultry breath, his eyes fluttering closed as Percival's fingertips graze across the side of his throat. It telegraphs heat all through out him, and he wishes that Percival would yank the neckerchief away and -

"PERCIVAL!" Arthur actually roars the name this time, causing even the Gentle Giant to jump in surprise. Arthur comes stalking over to where the two men are standing, his hands shaking in fists at his sides. Where Gwaine had pulled away, Percival doesn't. He continues to run the fabric of the neckerchief through his fingers until Merlin is forced to act. He hastily steps away, making sure that the piece of fabric stays in place.

"Arthur, he was just -" Merlin walks toward his King, trying to defuse the situation, but he doesn't get the chance. The moment he is within distance, Arthur grabs him. One hand wraps around Merlin's hip, jerking him close. The other hand wraps around the side of his face, tilting his head. Before Merlin can make a sound, a whimper or a gasp, Arthur's lips are a wave of passion crashing against the shore of his mouth and he wonders that he can even stand.

Arthur's lips are soft, warm. The barest hint of moisture. Merlin had always imagined they would be chapped, slightly rough, matching the demeanor that Arthur wore like a shield. But this. Oh god, this is so much more than he expected! Arthur's lips are loving and pliant. Molding to Merlin's as they move in a sensual, heated .. and ye gods, CLAIMING kiss. The warlock melts into the hold, his own hands eventually moving to fist in the front of Arthur's tunic as he feels every last breath kissed from his body.

"Now!" Arthur calls out, his voice a husky octave of need, his eyes moving from one Knight to the next, until he is sure that every one of them have seen the kiss. "Do you lot -finally- understand!?" He snarls the words, his gaze snapping back to the blushing, open mouthed manservant. "Mine." He purrs the final word sensually, his tongue poking from his mouth to trail along his bottom lip. His eyes sweep across Merlin, seeing every gift, every trinket ... every thing that had been offered to his Merlin, and he wants to rip them away. Remove them. He drags in a stilted breath, nostrils flaring as he forces himself to let the other man go. This definitely wasn't the time, or the place, for whatever conversation they probably need to have.

The Knights look on in confusion ... and more than a tad bit of anger. It wasn't fair! How could he claim Merlin as well!? Percival clears his throat, frowning as he steps forward.

"That's not fair, Arthur!" Percival grunts, reaching out to place a hand on Merlin's shoulder, prepared to pull the manservant toward him. Even as he sees Arthur riling up for a fight, he is prepared to stand his ground. Until Merlin turns to look at him with those wide, sad eyes. He pats Percival's hand gently, before carefully pulling it off his shoulder and taking a step back. Gasping faintly when his beck collides with Arthur's chest. Even as Arthur's arm wraps possessively around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Perce. I really am. I .. I am flattered by the things you and the others have told me." He glances at each Knight in turn, before looking back toward the Gentle Giant. His hand slips down to touch the back of Arthur's hand. Poor Merlin ... he finally has what he wants, and he can't look happy to save his life. Because some part of him isn't. Because surely, this is just jealousy, right? A case of a spoiled King not wanting anyone else to play with his toy, right? Merlin blinks back tears, and smiles up at his friend again.

"I told you all .. that I couldn't be courted. Because .. because my heart already belonged to someone else." He leans back against Arthur, a little surprised to feel that the older man has relaxed a little in the hold, but still isn't letting go. If this is the only moment he has .. then so be it. It's better than nothing, right?

"Damn it, Merlin! You are better than this!" Gwaine charges forward then, watching as Arthur's arm tightens around Merlin as the newest challenge presents itself. "He is going to marry Gwen. You'll still be his manservant, nothing more!" Gwaine grunts the word manservant, trying not to sound as disgusted as he feels. He cannot understand how Merlin can still be so loyal and so in love with a man that dismisses him, treats him as badly as he does.

Before Merlin can say anything, do anything, Arthur has gasped. He takes a step away, and pulls at Merlin's stomach, twisting the man around to face him. Arthur's features are red with anger and ... something else. Fear? It's so hard to read him. Though his eyes are much easier to read. They are full of sadness.

"You .. you don't believe that .. do you, Merlin?" He questions softly, showing far more emotion and vulnerability in his words than he had intended, but he can't stop it. Can't staunch the flow of emotion as his hand lifts to cup Merlin's cheek. "You can't possibly believe that you're nothing .. can you?" The question quakes from a croaking throat, and Merlin wants to laugh hysterically when his first thought is that he should run and get his Sire a drink of water. Or maybe wine, for how strange and surreal the situation is? "Merlin .." Arthur's tone has turned to begging and pleading, and Merlin gasps with surprise. That is not a tone he has often heard. Definitely never heard unless they were absolutely alone.

"Arthur, I .." He swallows heavily, his adam's apple bobbing with the strain as he wrestles with his inability to speak and the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him. "Arthur ... I .. I just don't know sometimes." His voice creaks on his Sire's name, and Merlin reaches up to push the palm of his head against his forehead. He can feel a stress headache developing behind his eyes, and suddenly, he wants nothing more than to be laying down in his room. Or better yet, curled up on the floor in Ealdor, pretending this life has never happened. Pretending that he is a normal young man without magic or unrequited love.

"You say things .. sometimes you don't mean them and I know that. But then you do, and it .. it cuts. It burns. I just .. I never know which Arthur it will be, and I -" He gasps, feels Arthur's lips collide with his again. Not claiming. Not rough, or mean, demanding. Just a gentle, trembling brush of lips against his, to quiet him. Reassure him. Arthur pulls back, his wide, suddenly dark eyes sweeping across his Knights.

"E-everyone carry on." He creaks, croaks, his voice a disheveled mess as he moves to grab Merlin by the arm. He turns and leads him quickly from the arena, and toward the Castle. His destination is simple and obvious; his chambers.

* * *

By the time they entered the castle, Arthur was no longer touching Merlin. It had been a mistake to do that, on the training field, out in the open. Where eyes could see, tongues could wag, and the world around them could find a way to tear them apart before they had a proper chance to try and make things work. Or, as Arthur fears, before Merlin has a chance to throw his feelings back in his face and laugh himself stupid at the fact that Arthur could be so foolish as to harbor affections for a man that had never shown any kind of fondness beyond friendship toward him. A man that, as far as he knows, has shown little to no true desire for -anyone-.

Once they are to his chambers, he wrenches the door open and waves Merlin inside, stepping in and closing the door once he's sure that Merlin is half way across the room. He then bolts it, facing the heavy wooden portal as he wages a silent war within himself. First, as any good general, he must get himself sorted. Control his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow. Steady. Calm. Then, he tells his heart to steady itself. Calm. Collected. Controlled. Finally, he turns to face Merlin .. and all of his careful self control flies right out the window because Merlin is staring at him with -those- eyes. The round, doe eyes that glisten with unshed tears. Lashes quivering and fluttering ever so slightly as he fights not to let the tears fall. It pierces Arthur's heart. Had he truly been such a ... a fucking PRAT, that Merlin had no notion of how much he means to him!?

"Merlin .. please." His voice nearly closes itself off at the use of the unfamiliar word. He swallows heavily and tries again. "Please explain what you meant. A-about .. which Arthur .." The King finds that his hands are shaking, so he wraps them in the hem of his tunic, clenching his fingers like vices within the material. He is falling apart. Fraying and breaking at the seams.

"Arthur, I .." Merlin whimpers. Actually. Whimpers. It's a sound that is earth-shattering to the King. Because it moves him. Before he can stop himself, he has bridged the gap between them and done something he would never even think to do with -Gwen-. He takes both of Merlin's hands in his and gives them a careful, reassuring squeeze. It seems to work. Merlin relaxes a little bit and another of those reality shaking whimpers don't come, so Arthur counts it as a victory. (And no, the hunter and warrior in him is NOT trying to treat this like a battle with victories and wins, honestly!)

"I meant .. what I said, Sire. I'm sorry, but it's true!" Merlin's words tremble as he tries to drag a breath into his aching chest, powering on before Arthur can think to try and comment. "You are three different Arthurs and I never know which until it's too late ..." His words trail off in a pathetic whine of frustration and don't start again until Arthur has given his hands a reassuring, if not unsteady, squeeze.

"On the one hand, you're Professional Arthur. All business. Neither distant or personal. I can handle that. Because it means ... it means you're being the King I always knew you would be." As per usual, anytime Merlin shows unwavering confidence in his ability to rule, Arthur pulls himself together. A subtle straightening of his back, squaring of his shoulders. He truly shines with pride!

"And then, there's Friend Arthur." And gods, if that label doesn't fill them both with a warm contentment that beams from them in uplifting waves. Their friendship has inspired a lot of happiness and enjoyment in other people. "The Arthur that lets me call him Prat and Dollophead, that threatens the stocks without ever meaning it anymore. The Arthur that ... that ..." Merlin's voice cracks on the two thats and Arthur finds that he has never wanted to hug someone so much in his life, save his dead Mother. (And damn Gwaine to -hell- for getting to hug the younger man so many times when he couldn't!) "That admits there is a bit of wisdom in me. I -like- that Arthur!" The King does too, though he can't currently find the words to admit it.

His thoughts are severely, fully interrupted by the feel of Merlin's hands wrenching free of his. Leaving him feeling bereft and inexplicably -empty-. That single motion of separation has drained every ounce of positive emotion from Arthur, leaving him a broken vessel floundering to find even footing once more.

"Th-then ... there's the O-Other Arthur. The true Prat, no better than the mean-spirited arsehole that I met when I first came to Camelot!" As Merlin fights to spit the fractured words out, Arthur is left to contemplate the fact that being stabbed, shot full of arrows, and drawn and quartered would hurt -less- than this fucking revelation! Every word inflicts a wound one hundred times worse than the last ... and each wound kills him a thousand times over. Dramatic, yes, but a breaking heart is the purest form of drama. More devastating than a war, or so it feels with the damn ache in his chest!

"That is the Arthur that still gives me nightmares. The Arthur that calls me a -coward- and still -means- it despite the fact that I'm not even a KNIGHT but I still ride into every fucking battle at his side without sword or armor! The one that sneers at me and calls me useless when he's angry or frustrated at a situation that actually has fuck all to do with me! And I still do more of his mean, vengeful, -asinine- chores than any other servant could or -would-! The Arthur that I secretly wish would hurry up and marry Gwen so I can quit and move back to Ealdor!" The more Merlin rants about the third Arthur, the louder and more animated he gets. Until his arms are flailing, his eyes are wide as saucers, and he's almost foaming at the mouth. When Arthur hears the possibility that Merlin will leave ... will run from Camelot and end up right back in Ealdor, an entirely -different- kingdom altogether, he feels as if every whiff of breath has been leeched from his body.

"NO!" He roars the word, his tone a waterfall of cascading grief and fear. Despite his Royal Prat nature, the word isn't a order as it would be in -any- other situation. It's a plea. This is Arthur begging, in the form of a single pitiful, wailing word, for Merlin not to give up. Not to leave him. It is the only word he can use, because no matter how he's feeling in this moment, he cannot actually voice the words to tell him to stay. Beg him to stay.

"Dollophead." Merlin breaths softly, though his voice falters. He hasn't the foggiest clue what is actually happening here. Why this is happening, or what good may come of the words spoken between them. He reaches out suddenly, splaying a hand on each of Arthur's cheeks, the King barely registering that they are cool and almost silken against his fevered skin.

"I will not leave Camelot, Arthur. This is my -home-. It has been since I came here. Even .. even when I returned to help Mum in Ealdor, I always knew I would come back if I survived." Arthur feels his heart clench, the same way it did on the day that Merlin had told him he was leaving. Because it was his Mother and he had to take care of her. He still feels like such a right foul -idiot- for having assumed that Merlin would choose him and Camelot over his Mother and the place he was born. He had simply -assumed- that Merlin would apologize to Hunith and send her on her way. Once he realized that Merlin was leaving, he had -assumed- that he would escort her home and then return. God, no wonder Merlin had called him a Royal Ass when they first met. If no other proof had ever been offered, that was definitely more than enough. What kind of grade a arsehole expected a man to put his Prince before home and hearth, kith and kin!?

He fears, for one dreadful moment, that he's going to physically be sick. His stomach churns with the rancid burn of bile, his lips compress in a tight white line to fight the need to sick up. He will not let these emotions get the better of him! He can't! He's Arthur Pendragon, KING of CAMELOT, damn it! He does not go about losing his breakfast because of a manservant's opinion of him! Though ... gods forgive him, he might do just that over the fact that a friend is standing there, radiating disappointment in him.

"Things are hard enough these days, Arthur, without having to worry which version of you I'm going to face. Without .. without .. god, you're going to call me a fucking -girl- again, but without having to wonder if I'm going to be lucky enough to go to bed feeling relatively happy, or if I'm going to go to bed in -tears- because you're being a prick again." Words should not cut like knives and swords. They should not cause physical pain as real and true as a mortal injury. They are words, not slings and barbs, but they prick his skin. Pierce his heart. Rip the breath from his lungs as he fights against the onslaught of it all. This is Merlin. Kindhearted, sweet, PRECIOUS Merlin that never has more than a nice word or kind 'insult.' Unloading on him with words that cut him to the quick, and yet, delivered with such sadness, as if the very fact that he has thought them at all, hurts Merlin just as much. Knowing him .. yeah, of course they do. Because this is Merlin. Ever loyal, sweet Merlin that sees his own logical thoughts as a betrayal to that loyalty.

"You're not a girl, Merlin. You're not ... I'm sorry!" He speaks the apology with impassioned vehemency, and it shocks the younger man enough that he pulls away. Snatches his hands from the sides of Arthur's face as if he has been physically scalded or something. He turns away from Arthur, moving around the chambers he seems to just now realize he is standing in. Chambers that he knows better than his little room in Gaius' place. He feels the tickle of hysterical laughter beginning at the back of his throat and he practically lunges for the pitcher of wine. Fills a glass and knocks it back with the desperation of a man dying of thirst. It's too much. Not enough. A cataclysmic differential of spectral structure. How can he feel as if he is inhabiting two completely different things at the exact same time? Is this what going mad feels like!?

"Oh, Arthur .. Sire .." The words slip from lips painted pale pink with remnants of wine, that even now glistens in the corners of his mouth and he hasn't the mind to think to lick the dregs away. He reaches up, instead. Pallid fingers pressed against the nest of his ebon hair, twisting and tugging the strands into gravity defying, swooping angles that begged for other hands to card through. Gods, Arthur wished his could be that other hand. To feel the velvety heat of the strands .. would they be pliant against his finger tips? Wiry, or as soft and smooth as he thinks they will?

Oh. Oh, wait .. he called him sire again, didn't he? Another barbed arrow to his heart. He huffs a heavy breath and it is his turn to drag himself toward the table. His turn to grab the pitcher, fill a glass, and down the contents in one quick, bitter swig. It burns. Claws at his throat as he forces it down. Nearly splutters, but somehow manages to retain some sliver of his damned dignity.

"Fine. Just .. fuck, fine, Merlin. You're dismissed. Permanently. You're no longer my manservant. Just. Go." he hisses the words, falling beneath the familiar protection of spite and anger. Wearing the false shield of disinterest and Pratliness, trying to protect what remains of his shriveled heart. He slugs down a second full cup of wine, falling heavily into his chair. He now has a future to plan. A future without Merlin. A future with some bootlicker that will remind him that fondness is the biggest crutch and weakness a King can ever succumb to.

"God. Just .. I don't even ... you .." It seems as if Merlin has finally, fully broken. His words becoming a disjointed spewing that Arthur cannot make heads or tails of. Doesn't really want to either, come to think of it. What does he care what the arsehole wants to say? He's so quick to want to leave him, why should he care what he's trying to say!? He slams the cup down on the table top and sinks a little deeper into his chair. It's easy to be angry and anything but regal at the moment. In his rooms, he can pretend he's just Arthur. Not a King, a Pendragon, or even a warrior. Just an insignificant speck that has managed to thoroughly fuck his life up.

"Just .. fine. I'm done, Arthur. With this. All of this. May the Gods help Gwen, that she may be able to put up with your bullshit!" He snarls those words. Merlin. Snarls. It is perhaps the most unsettling thing Arthur thinks he has ever heard or seen. Worse than the Griffin and the Question Beast combined. Worse than an Immortal army. He shudders vaguely, nothing more than a minute quake of his limbs that goes unnoticed by his ... by Merlin. The man is not his in any way. A fact he is silently reminding himself of by way of a mental chant; Not mine. Not mine. NOTMINEBUTSTILLMINE, damn it!

"I'm -not- marrying Guinevere, MERLIN!" He screams those words. Not a snarl. Or snark. Or yell. But a full on, nearly bloody -scream-. It is shocking enough that Merlin turns on his heel to face Arthur full on finally. The only time he has done so without Arthur forcing him to by taking his hands or something as intrusive. Forceful.

Merlin's eyes have gone wide as saucers again, but it's different. Because the emotion, the glittering shards of unfallen tears, they are missing. His eyes are wide .. and utterly unreadable. No trace of emotion. Just .. nothing. This is as unsettling to the King as the snarl had been!

"Damn it, Merlin .. I'm -not- marrying Gwen." He sighs the words, as heavy as a rock, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees as he tries to calm himself. He is a warrior, a King. He should have utter -control- over himself!

"Wha...?" The word is so slowly drawn out, that it almost sounds more like a sigh than an actual attempt at verbal communication.

"Honestly, Merlin, how many times do I have to -say it- before you'll understand!? I. Am. Not. Marrying. Gwen!" He bites each word off with angry gusto. "I'm not stupid, Merlin. I'm not .. not as bloody daft as everyone seems to think! She loves Lancelot. Far more than she loves me. I knew that when we rescued her. The way she looked .. broken .. when Lancelot left. I .. I recognized the look ..." He shudders. A ripple of something passing over his form as he tries to stuff it all down.

Yes, he remembers that look. True, it had not been so overt or obvious when he himself wore it. But he still remembered it. From the moment Merlin told him he was going back to Ealdor to help his Mum. He bites at the inside of his cheek, a sudden shock of copper across his tongue enough to tear him from his maudlin state.

"I don't know why the Knights .. thought I was getting ready to propose, but I'm not. I told her to go after Lancelot. To follow her heart. I'm not marrying her." Why he feels the need to continue repeating those words, he has no clue. But he does. Maybe, if he says them enough, Merlin will finally show emotion again. Finally -believe- that Arthur means it. Though why he cares so damn much if the fool believes him, he has no -

His thoughts are summarily shattered by the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Trembling as it squeezes. This, of course, causes him to sit up straight to look up into Merlin's features. No sooner is he sitting straight, though, than he has a lap full .. of his manservant. Er, ex-manservant? Did sacking count when it was done in the midst of a childish strop because of new-found emotions that are too hard to handle?

But yes. Merlin is suddenly -there-. Filling up his every sense, making him almost hyperaware of the presence of the other man. The way Merlin's arse bounces against his lap as he drops sideways onto him. Merlin's arms, as they wrap around his shoulders, feel stronger than he expected them to, given how thin the other man has always seemed.

"Arthur! That's FANTASTIC!" Merlin squeaks the words, voice cracking, as he buries his face in the crook of Arthur's neck. Letting the king feel the surprisingly warm, ticklish puff of breath that accompanies each word playing across his skin. Suddenly, it really doesn't seem such a good idea for Merlin to be -in his lap- as that heat coils through him. Serpentines it's way to the nexus of his desire and claws at him. Taking hold.

But he does his best to ignore it. For now. Instead, he almost shyly wraps his arms around Merlin. Carefully slips his hands along the curve of his side and pulls the man a little closer. Holds him a little tighter. To be sure this moment is real. It. Is. Real. His heart thumps rapidly, and he finds himself completely lost for words. How can he answer Merlin, that exclamation that his not marrying Gwen is -fantastic-!? It means divulging emotions he knows he shouldn't be feeling for the younger man.

Not to mention .. -why- the hell does Merlin think it is -fantastic- that he's not going to marry Gwen!? See, these are the kinds of questions that are dangerous. They threaten to shatter the status quo, which in turn will probably destroy the magnificently strange friendship the two of them have cultivated, and he -really- cannot stand that thought. he has lost so much already. He cannot, WILL NOT lose Merlin to. That would be the final straw in the breaking of his spirit, and Camelot probably wouldn't survive that. He had seen the capacity for hatred and anger that Uther carried, and knows that that possibility lay within him as well. If Merlin were to go back to Ealdor ... if Merlin finally gave up on him? He fears that it would take him down that dark, lonely path and it terrifies him. More than any feeble string of words could ever fully articulate.

"Merlin .." He tries to make his voice sound steady and strong, but it quivers. Cracks and bleeds emotion all over that single word. Leaving him with the gut wrenching fear that he has already said everything he has meant to keep silent, without ever speaking the words themselves. Horror fills him when Merlin untangles his arms from him and slides out of his lap. Suddenly standing several feet away, back ramrod straight, eyes wide and solicitous.

"Oh, fuck, Arthur! I am so .. so s-sorry. I shouldn't have .. I didn't .. oh GOD!" Merlin's words trail off in shambles, his hands flying up to tug at his bangs. Twisting and pulling at them so hard that Arthur momentarily wonders how badly it must hurt! But that is a moot point, nothing that really needs to be thought on, when he sees Merlin turning to bolt. NO! NONONO! Merlin cannot leave! Not like -this-! Because then he might actually do it. He might actually leave Camelot, go back to Ealdor, and even Arthur is not so brash or foolish as to realize that the king of Camelot could not ride into a neighboring kingdom without causing a mountain worth of problems. Can't do it. Won't. He has to STAY!

"MERLIN!" He yelps the other man's name, launching himself from the chair and running for the door. Merlin has just managed to reach for the lock when Arthur gets there. His hands slam against the wood, the action burning his palms a bit. Beyond a faint wince, though, he doesn't register the pain. He just stands there. A hand on the wall on either side of Merlin's head. His body a rigid cage keeping him trapped between flesh and wood. And he's breathing heavy. God, soooo heavy. Gasping and panting, as if he has run a bloody marathon, rather than sprinted a few feet from chair to door.

"eep!" Merlin's squeak of surprise, and fear, causes Arthur's head to snap up, eyes narrowed. Merlin is now facing him, back pressed so tight against the door he is likely to have a bruise there if he's not careful. His eyes are wide, brimming with unshed tears, and yes, that oh so obvious fear. It cuts Arthur to the quick again, and he silently marvels at the fact that this is not an actual duel. Merlin's emotions and confessions would've killed him a dozen times over by now. How does a single person have so much fucking POWER over him!? How does this man, this manservant, his friend, wield so much power over him with words and actions?! It makes no sense. For one terrible moment, he is sure that he is going to lash out as he had done earlier. Take his own anger and frustration out on his friend, when he most definitely doesn't deserve it.

"Merlin, please. Just .. just -stop- for a second and let me bloody well -speak-." This time, his words are a fierce, urgent demand, and he nearly laughs hysterically right into Merlin's face when his manservant seems to calm instantly. Not completely, of course, but calms quite a bit. Honestly, why couldn't the beautiful fool ever listen this quickly when things were not so high-strung and difficult!? "If I move back, will you bolt?" Merlin seems to contemplate the question for a moment, before he shake his head no quickly. Unable to find his voice, apparently. Gods be praised, that's a miracle! Arthur draws back slowly. Starting with his hands. He slips them off the wood, flexing his aching fingers a little, seeing how red his palms are. He then takes several steps back, and bites at the inside of his cheek when he sees Merlin finally start to relax. Though he remains crowded against the closed door. Of course he does.

Arthur decides to trust me, because really, what person has he ever trusted -more- than Merlin? He walks to the table and grabs the pitcher, pours a cup of wine, and turns back. Merlin still looks like a wide eyed rabbit ready to bolt, but he's still there. That is what matters. Arthur holds the cup out to him, and after a hesitant moment, he takes it and sips at the liquid.

"Now. Please sit at the table, Merlin. There's no reason to have this .. conversation ... with you squashed against the bloody door." He turns on his heel then, silently cursing Merlin for making him say please so damn much. He's the King, damn it. He shouldn't have to be speaking like this! He drops heavily into his seat, sighing silently when Merlin drops into the chair across from him, sitting the mostly full cup on the table. Also a blessing, considering how little Merlin can usually drink. He doesn't want his friend drunk for this, either. Because if he likes it or not, Arthur knows that this conversation has to happen. It will be like pulling teeth, neither of them will get through it unscathed, but it has to happen.

"What is there to talk about, Arthur?" Merlin finally manages to pluck up the courage to start acting rational in all of this, to calm down enough to speak plainly. And yeah, ok, he's aware that there are quite a few things to talk about, but he doesn't want to. He's too tired, too emotionally worn out. Too everything, to summon the mental capacity to try and explain anything Arthur might wish to discuss.

"Merlin .." The King speaks the word as a sort of weary warning. He knows the fool is not that big of an idiot, as to think that this will all pass without some type of discussion, even though he knows they both wish it would. It's not healthy. They've kept enough of this crap bottled up for too long as it is. More time will destroy them. He's sure of it. "Please, just ... just don't do this, okay? We both know this needs to be gotten through, so just .. answer honestly, and this will go quicker." Maybe. Arthur leans back in his seat, letting himself sink down into it, though he nearly jumps when the action causes his foot to slide against Merlin's. He quickly pulls back, crossing his feet at the ankle and keeping himself as calm externally as he can. On the inside, he's a ruddy great mess, but that's his problem, and his alone, to deal with. Once Merlin gives a bare nod of agreement, Arthur exhales deeply. Okay, he can does this.

"You're happy that I'm not marrying Gwen." It is obviously a statement, but his gaze still bores into Merlin, expecting an answer. Which comes in the form of a jerky nod yes. Arthur's tongue dips from his mouth, skating across lips that feel a little chapped and dry. No clue why, since a lap full of happy Merlin had obviously meant he was happy that the wedding wasn't going to happen. But this is different somehow. Real, maybe? An actual acknowledgement, even if it hadn't been spoken.

"Why?" Blunt, to the point, brooking no argument or lie. Just the plain, hard facts. So, of course, Merlin begins squirming and eyeing the door. Ready to bolt. Again. Arthur feels something ugly snap inside, and his hands ball into fists. Slam angrily onto the table, causing it to shudder and quake under the strength of him. "Is it really so fucking appalling, the thought of being truthful with me, MERlin!?" He sneers the other man's name, tries to inject as much venom and anger into the name of his best friend as he can. It causes Merlin to flinch and cower. To curl into himself in the table, and Arthur is at complete odds with himself. He want to stop, apologize, beg Merlin not to take it personal. He also wants to scream, curse, and continue throwing that verbal venom at the man. "ANSWER ME!" He screeches, unable to keep his cool anymore. "Do you HATE me that MUCH, Merlin!? Am I that despicable? That much of a fucking PRAT that even a conversation with me makes you want to RUN!?" He is aware of the fact that he's screaming again. Full out, bloody screaming. He can't stop. Emotions and words are pouring out of him now, the broken dam of his composure no longer able to save him. Too much. Too much tumbling out. Soon, he will be a cracked, empty vessel. A shadow of what he was. Please, Merlin. Please, stop me before I destroy myself!

"ANSWER! ME! MERLIN!" He punctuates each word with his fist slamming down on the table between them, knuckles bruised and swollen. Fingernails digging into the pads of his palm as he screams at his friend. Words now molten, metallic. They burn and cut, aimed to decimate the man he calls friend. Save me, Merlin .. save us.

"I LOVE YOU, YOU STUPID, INSUFFERABLE, SUPERCILIOUS, EGOTISTICAL PRAT!" Merlin jumps up from his chair, his own hands balled into mottled red, shaking fists that rain down on the table top, a knuckle on his lift hand cracking and splitting. A few droplets of blood dotting the wooden surface, though Merlin is too steeped in adrenaline to feel the pain of it at the moment. Arthur notices it at once, though. The tang of copper, the sheen of crimson amongst the grain of wood. It turns his stomach. He sucks in a searing breath and looks up, into Merlin's eyes. Searching. Seeking. It has to be truth ... it has to be the truth, damn it! If it isn't .. if it isn't, he'll banish him from Camelot! This would be the cruelest joke ever, if he doesn't mean it.

His legs give way. He collapses gracelessly into the chair one more time. His hands, still pressed into aching fists, fall against his thighs. Push hard enough that that area will be bruised as well.

"One chance, Merlin. You have one chance to take it back and save yourself." The fire and ire are gone from his voice. Arthur simply sounds .. old and tired. Worn out and defeated. Resigned, maybe. Merlin falls into his own chair. Struggles with how to react, what to say, etc. In the end, a high pitched, hysterical giggle escapes from him. He tries to shove his fist against his mouth, but the pain has started to sink in and he's a bloody mess. He gives one more hysterical giggle, and then sinks, defeated, deeper into the chair.

"I should. I should take every single, fucking word back, Arthur Pendragon. No, not all of them, actually. Because you're an arsehole. A full blown jerk, bastard, and prat. But the other .. the .. the love. I should take that back. And Gods forgive me, but I want to at times! These last few weeks .. I -begged- myself to forget you. To get over these bullshit feelings because they hurt so fucking much. Do you have any idea how much -easier- it would be if I could just say yes to Percival or Gwaine? If I could've smiled and agreed to Elyan or Leon? My life wouldn't hurt a fraction as much as it does now. But no. I can't do that. I can't get over this fucking -ache- in my heart and be smart enough to love one of those that actually love me. Instead, I have to live like .. like this! Your servant, your -slave- in all but name, for the way you treat me. I have to smile and nod, and pretend as if every scrap of near nonexistent affection you deign to throw my way when no one is looking, is real. Which I'm sure you don't even realize you do, because otherwise, you would stop. After all, -no one- can know a King would DARE to be friends with a servant. Forget the fact that the damn servant has given every piece of himself to ensure that the King has lived to rule. No, can't have that, can we!? Fuck you, Arthur Pendragon. But, at least you did get -one- thing right." Another bubble of that insane, hysterical giggle, and Arthur is shaking all over. Unsure how to react. "I really -am- a great big, pathetic IDIOT!" Merlin squeaks the word idiot, his giggle reaching a whole new level of squeak, before it abruptly changes. To sobs.

The hand no longer struggles to shove itself down his throat to stop the laughter. Instead, both hands fly to his face, palms pressed tightly against his eyes to try and stem the flow of hot, sluggish tears pouring down his cheeks. Those. His tears. THOSE effect Arthur more than words ever could. They make him uncomfortable, make him -hate- himself. He slinks from the chair, crossing the table with the kind of silence a practiced hunter and warrior displays. Before Merlin can question it, before he can over think it or have to reject the action, Arthur grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him to his feet. The action causes Merlin's hands to fall from his face. His eyes are wide and already red rimmed. Tears raining steadily upon his soaked, flushed cheeks. His mouth is a wide, surprised O, and Arthur doesn't care about any of it. None of it deters him from his wish, his desire.

"Merlin." When he speaks the name this time, it is nothing but affection and a soft, silky tone that the manservant is most definitely not expecting. Nor does he expect Arthur to lean forward and press a tender kiss to his lips. Molding so sweetly to them. Nothing like the possessive kiss he had used to 'claim' him from the Knights' attention. Or the breath stealing kiss before they had made their way here. It is sweet, lingering, and explains so much, even though there are still questions. They don't seem as desperate and pressing now. "I love you, you idiot." Arthur whispers those earth-shattering words against Merlin's lips before he pulls back. He wraps his fingers in the material of his sleeve and loving scatters the tears from Merlin's cheeks. Smiling now. No, more like .. Arthur is beaming now. The words are out. They won't solve everything, but it's a start.

"I love you, Merlin. The rest .. the rest will .. fall into place." He leans forward, his arm snagging about Merlin's waist as he presses another kiss to the other man's lips. Merlin hesitates, but eventually, his arms wrap around him in turn and he relaxes into his king's embrace. It will all work out. Of that, he now has faith.

* * *

\- **_Fin_**.


End file.
